Angel's Call Home
by GoldenRoya
Summary: Angel is getting sicker. He wants to reconcile with his long-estranged parents before his death. But his call home does not go as he hoped. Rated T for language.


_I do not own RENT. I have it practically memorized, but I do not own it. Dang._

_This came to me almost fully-formed as I puttered around the kitchen, listening to the soundtrack (again). Apologies to those offended by the language - it does NOT reflect my personal viewpoint, but does echo the common feelings of those who don't understand homosexuals. I also apologize for appropriating Angel's parents in this way - I don't know what their actual names are nor how they felt about their son's choice of lifestyle, I was just extrapolating from what I know of the viewpoints of those persons of approximately the correct age at the time the musical was set. If anyone knows any information about the Schunard's, please message me!_

_That all said... I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! (Reviews please?)_

_

* * *

_"You sure this is a good idea?" Collins asked. Angel clutched the receiver of the pay phone with both hands.

"I haven't talked to them in.. in years," he said, reluctantly. "I think… with my last test results being what they were… And Paul… you know he said that… that family was important. Reconnecting before… well you know." Collins wrapped a hug around his lover's shoulders, supporting him. Angel rested his cheek against Collins' fingers briefly, wordlessly thanking him.

Then he reached out and dialed the number from memory.

_Ring._

Angel held his breath.

_Ring._

Collins squeezed him lightly. "It's okay."

_Ring._

"Maybe this isn't the best idea after all," Angel murmured, pulling the receiver away from his ear.

_Ring._

"It's okay, Angel. It's okay."

_Ri-_ "Hello?"

Angel looked at Collins, suppressed panic in his face. His lover smiled encouragement.

"Hello? Who's there?"

"…Mom?"

"…Andrew? Oh my God, Andrew, is that you?"

Angel swallowed. "Y-yeah, Mom, it's me."

"Andrew! My baby… oh, how have you been? Have you been eating? Are you warm enough? Are you happy? Oh…"

"Yeah. Yeah, Mom, I'm doing okay. I –"

"… Donna? Donna, who is that on the phone?"

"Ronald… uh, oh, I…"

There was the sound of something being wrenched out of a hand. "Hello?" the voice on the other end was rough. "Who is this?"

Angel froze. Collins could feel his lover stiffen in his arms.

"Hello? Goddamn it, answer me! If you don't say anything in the next five seconds, I'm going to hang up. Five. Fo-"

"Dad?" Collins frowned. Angel's voice had dropped from its usual light register to a much deeper one.

"…_Andrew?_"

"…Hi, uh, Dad. It's me, yeah."

"Well, you got a lot of balls, calling home after all these years. Tell me you've gotten a girl pregnant."

Angel was shrinking into himself. "…no…" he whispered. "…I – I'm still gay, Dad."

"Call it like it is, _boy_. You're still a freaking queer. Didn't I tell you not to call here until you're ready to stop chasing men and give me some grandkids?"

He swallowed hard. "…yeah. Yeah, Dad, you did. And… and I haven't. I just… I'm… I -"

"Get your ass straightened up and get home, you fag. Your mother misses you."

_Click_.

"I'm dying, Dad…" Angel whispered into the dead receiver.

Collins wrapped his lover in his arms, holding him fiercely as he sobbed into his chest. "I'm sorry," he murmured into the top of his head. "I'm sorry."

"I thought… I thought… I hoped… but he's just the same… and my mom… I couldn't even talk to her!"

"Shh, shh, shh…" He held him tightly, glaring at those passing by who looked at them oddly. "It's okay, baby. Family – we're your family. Me, and Mark and Roger and Mimi and Maureen and Joanne and everyone. We love you, for who you are, for what you are, and nothing, not _one thing_ is ever going to change that."

Angel finally sniffed and pulled back, wiping her eyes and visibly pulling her composure back around herself. "I love you, Collins. You know that, right?"

Collins kissed his lover tenderly. "That's my girl," he murmured. "Now let's get on back home, shall we?"

"Angel! Collins!" A voice hailed the pair from across the street.

"Mimi! Hey!"

The Hispanic beauty cut across the sparse traffic and joined them. "What are you two doing here? Never mind – come on, the Alphabet City group is meeting down at the Life Cafe. Join us?"

"Sure thing, Mimi!"

Collins linked his elbow with Angel's left arm while Mimi appropriated the right. Arm in arm in arm, the trio walked down the street.

Angel cast one, long look back at the pay phone.

Then she shook her head, grinned at Mimi, executed a skipping dance step that the dancer followed and that Collins more-or-less stumbled through, and laughed.

She had made her choice. Andrew was gone. And Angel couldn't be happier.

Truly.

* * *

Mrs. Schunard glared at her husband. "You had to go and alienate him again, didn't you?"

"I won't have a fag for a son," he growled, slamming the telephone receiver down.

"And I won't have a husband who chases his only child off every chance he gets! He's only nineteen, for crying out loud! Andrew called us for a reason, you know, he didn't just suddenly wake up one day and decide he wanted to get stomped on by you again. He had to have had a really good reason to call."

"Yeah, like needing more money." He held up a hand to forestall his wife's protest. "He gets cleaned up, starts liking girls, and comes home, then I'll have him back. Until then, I won't have his name spoken in this house. Understood?" He didn't wait for an answer, just went into the den and turned on the TV.

Mrs. Schunard puttered about the kitchen for awhile, washing dishes, dusting, straightening the shelves.

Then, assured that her husband was snoozing in front of the news, she sat down at the table, pencil and paper at the ready.

_Dear son…My dear, dear Andrew – My Angel…_


End file.
